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the rain

just completed another weekend of diving in Ontario. It is still raining in Ontario. All weekends that God takes the good and I am in Ontario, is the fleet. It's funny when camping in the rain, but like anything, it ends up disgusting. Not only is the bait that I have spent the last few days, but when it came time to take off, my partner was gone, the latter having taken leave camp to fulfill his conjugal duties. The problem with the fact that my partner is not with me at the time of departure is that camping is all that she and I have invented. We are first installed, the first ready to eat, the first having gathered all together, the first ready to go. Efficiency. It is us.

As happens on occasion of mind quick as a seagull in front of a Big Mac, I had the bright idea to end my weekend camping with the only ex who has become my friend. But the friendship between former, it has certain limitations. An ex, it remains an ex. And if camping with her ex you appear like a great idea, I strongly suggest you give yourself a few slaps back of the head time to make the little intelligence you have. This guy is nice. To carry his bag during a meeting Shopping, fine. But to operate when it's time to put a tent while it was almost dark on a Friday evening and need to prepare dinner, it's not necessarily the ideal. But it is nice. A glass of wine in town, fine. But one Sunday morning when it's time for baling small and that it persists for half an hour to fold a square canvas tent that is not square, it gets on my nerves. The best time spent with him was in the car to return, then he spent two hours talking to me about his job and I nodded, pushing some "Ahem" on occasion. I am in bad faith, I know. I like it anyway.

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tagged

... by Kara

... I sleep in a spoon with Mumu.

... I eat lots of small dishes concocted by Nitram and me.

... I piss sitting.

... I run from my car and a heated winter. Otherwise, I never run.

I kiss ... not.

I work ... the only area where I could.

... I push small moans when I kiss ... not.

... I'm talking on the phone a lot.

... I drink alcohol the night, water and coffee the night the day.

I whistled for Mumu ... come see me. It only works with him elsewhere.

I fart ... and it smells like roses.

... too often I ride the elevator.

... I see the future positively.

I sing songs ... cheesy.

I hope .... to announce good news soon.

I run to the Montague girl Scuba at numerologist and Potato

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contact

Yesterday morning, I walked slowly towards the office, not in a hurry to return to my files despite the short weeks ahead. I used to be stationed far away from the building where I work, since I arrived a little late. Yesterday, I do not know which operation of the Holy Spirit, I found a seat directly in front of the building. THE place.

Excited like a kid who just see a clown, I hasten to my parallel maneuver that I'm almost the queen, take my bag, bar the door and walked toward the entrance of the building, mining in my purse to find my keys and can not find obviously not. They remained on course to touch the car, the blonde is incapable of being excited and thoughtful at the same time.

The excitement of the parking space in front of the building over, I think the best strategy. I think my friend CAA, which helps me quite regularly for as little as $ 75 per year but I suddenly remember I have the dubious habit of never cross my suitcase keys. So I go back to my car, the coup attempt, the bag opens and Franco Nuevo speaks to me loudly in the ears with its neo-accent-Redio Quénéda. Not only had I forgot the keys in the ignition, but I did not even completely closed it. In an ideal world, I'd realized my oversight in the late afternoon and I called CAA not only to open my door but also to boost the battery. It would have been a blow really profitable.

Anyway, the bag being open and accessible contact in a few passes of gymnastics, I had to pick up the keys myself. Obviously, any law of nature demanded that I'm wearing a skirt that day and said skirt below said no. So I crouched in a small guy in the bag, I lowered the rear seats forward, I'm lying on their stomachs to avoid a panoramic view any voyeur and I crawled to the contact. It was beautiful . I squatted again, I crossed the driver's side and came away from the car with an air innocent.

Sure to have avoided the worst, I took my purse left near the bag and am headed back to the door of the building when I heard someone knocking in a window, inside. Obviously, the person who had witnessed the whole spectacle was the only male interesting throughout, the very one that I constantly invent the post to my colleagues. It was behind the window, royally fucked my mouth, imitating a poor girl not subtly creepy to touch the bag. I

wanted to attract his attention, I could not have done better.

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Dance Attitude and altitude Poc poc poc

Like last summer, I saw an early summer and full of incredible adventures. Despite the cold and rain, the last weekend of diving was a near-perfect. The small glitch encountered with my new palm-pastel-color-perfect-for-pot-de-luxe, which is narrated by my partner, has once again confirmed that we were perfect accomplices under water. I'm also quite proud of this new purchase since my cute fins were found in less than two by their pretty color.

Besides this small vanity, you may be surprised to learn that I spent the weekend without makeup or flat iron. Of course I spent the weekend away from mirrors and tried several times to look away from my eyes to my fresh pedicure identified red-blood-effect-wet. As a perfume, I concocted my own mix and lemon muscoli which had a monster when a charming young man tried to kiss me in the neck. It deters insects but not the charming young men.

Contrary to our expectations, it is our small group 9 divers who did get up on Canada Day in Brockville, Ontario this weekend. We have had complaints about noise when we won our respective tents to 22:30 after drinking 3 or 4 beers ... It also seems that we have slightly abused the F *** word, which helped create a generation of 'shameless Ontario.

******

I am becoming closer to my first solo parachute jump and stress me quietly gaining at lightning speed. Having a sense of direction not a hen head, I fear I can not find the landing field, or to know exactly where it is but not to control the sail to achieve it. I was slightly reassured to learn that they could land in a tree and get away with few scratches. This weekend, I was questioned for 5 minutes on the need to consecrate myself to 100 feet under water, or 13,000 feet in the air, trusting only on equipment, technology also can there be, to save my life. That, come to think, a little absurd, but so Trill.

Wednesday I go for additional life insurance.

Thursday, I jumped.

Saturday and Sunday, I dive.